


Summer of our lovin'

by ledeuxiemesexe



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Brazil National Team, FC Barcelona, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 08:33:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4739801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ledeuxiemesexe/pseuds/ledeuxiemesexe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a false start to summer (due to Copa America mishap), Neymar finds himself consoled and at the same time dazed by none other than Rafinha, in an endless feast of sunshine days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer of our lovin'

[](http://imgur.com/i2TUdhr)

Fanart & [Fanmix](http://8tracks.com/jjjanimefan/summer-of-our-lovin#) by neyvenger

 

The silence in the hotel room is almost eerie. Neymar looks at the palms of his hands, rising up to cover his face. He is alone and upset beyond reason. The red card is hanging upon his head like a ton, piling up on top of every costly mistake he had made. He feels he is sinking under the burden of all his sins, sins against football. He had failed Brazil once again, he had been reckless again, he could not refrain, again. Again, again, again.

His palms finally embrace his face, covering his burning eyes. He had cried until there were no more tears. The coolness of his hands soothes him momentarily. As soon as the heat envelops his face, he releases it.

Once more, he puts his hands, palms down, in the bucket of ice. He lets the freeze numb his hands before he reaches towards his face. 

He's been doing that for 20 minutes, his hands red and swollen with cold, when the phone rings. The silence is pierced by the cheery ringtone Neymar forgot to change. He gazes towards the nightstand, where the phone lies, hoping for a glance of the caller's name. He requested to not be disturbed and he knows he has all the right to dismiss the call. 

The phone is too far for him to easily see who's calling. He has to reach towards it and grab it in order to see. The name on the display shakes him into a fiery but pleasant shock. 

“Hello,” the gruff voice says, neutrally.

“Hello”, Neymar replies, the sudden rush of blood to the head warming him up. 

Rafinha is a teammate Neymar has a lot in common with, and at the same time, very little. They hang out together as the Brazilian Barça bunch under Dani's kind patronage, but they rarely hang out together by themselves. 

In this context, the fact that Rafinha has the nerve to break the self imposed exile and call him means that he must have a good reason therefore, which somehow explains the wave of panic coursing through Neymar. 

Yet, what could Rafinha have to communicate that is so important that couldn't wait for Neymar to come out of his shell? The panic somehow doubles as he awaits for the other Brazilian to state the purpose of his phone-call.

“I know you're most likely bewildered by my calling you. I assure you I almost am as well, but I had to call you. Something told me you would appreciate hearing me over the phone.”

The communication makes little light and Neymar can only feel the call as more intruding and inappropriate rather than whatever intention Rafinha had had. He decides to be the bigger man though and to let Rafael off the hook . Perhaps the younger man doesn't know. Even with this decision, his heart is pounding like a drum as he explains.

“I really am not feeling very well,” he says, trying to convey the innermost feelings of discomfort over the phone, “and...”

“You think you should wallow in misery, in self imposed flagellation. I think you should open the door,” the commanding tone is hard to miss even in Neymar's condition of near hyperventilation.

At that very same moment, Neymar understands the rumble he can hear outside his room is indeed coming from the very phone-call. He puts the phone down without ending the conversation and is quick to attend to the door, but not before taking the incriminating bucket of ice in the bathroom.

As expected, the younger Brazilian is right at the door, phone in hand and offering a smile worth a better, cheerier occasion. With no hesitation, Rafinha shoulders past a still largely bemused Neymar into the room, settling into the big raffia armchair long before the rightful occupant of the room has the chance to step out of his puzzled state, little less close the door.

“You should close that,” Rafinha urges in a non-urgent tone which though is imbibed with some sort of dictum quality.

Neymar obliges almost in a state of fugue and then stares at his club teammate, suddenly at home in his, Neymar's, hotel room in a moment of grave distress.

Rafinha is, generally speaking, a happy, doubtless fellow, who enjoys life at its fullest and does not - or alternatively - effortlessly tries not to worry about anything at all. It is, perhaps, a matter of upbringing, of growing up in a footballer family with all the perks it had and still did entail. 

On the flip-side, Neymar is the worrier, the kind of personality whose very worries bring on the very misadventures he worries about and futilely tries to prevent from happening. 

However, even knowing this, and being well aware that Rafinha's visit has to be connected to his elimination and subsequent ban, Neymar is still short of the core explanation for Rafinha's presence in his room, together especially with that big broad infectious smile of his. 

At the same time, the silence has grown to almost unbearable levels and Neymar does think it is actually ok to ask what is going on.

“So, like I said on the phone, you think you should hole yourself up in this room and exile yourself in castigation for something you did which you think brought dishonour to the national team and at the same time showed once again, how immature you are.” 

The reading is correct to a tee. Neymar is deeply ashamed of his on pitch antics leading to his red card and everything that had followed.

“Yeah,” he lets out in relief, mostly because finally they are speaking and then again, because he is almost sure Rafinha would propose an alternative to his choice of punishment.

If he is honest, he is doing the whole exile thing as a show. He is putting on a spectacle of humility and remorse, mainly out of huge concerns over his image in the media and of course, because he is trying to paint himself as mature, or at least maturing as opposed to the childish behaviour displayed against Colombia. He does feel horrible for what happened, but his self inflicted retribution is exaggerated for the whole world to see only as an external device. 

Again, at the very center of his actions is worry, a fear of misperception that outweighs any other kind of common sense, at least when it came to his public image. He cannot accept being considered immature and his mistakes explained by this continued teen view of life, even if he knows it would be easier to move on and maybe even grow should he allow this very reason to be known.

The pools of silence come unabated, allowing either of the conversation partners the luxury of thinking things through post saying them.

“The issue with such line of thinking is exactly what gets you in trouble the next time. You try to repent, but since it is false repenting, it never really gets through,” Rafinha utters implacably, almost in a purposely hurtful manner.

Neymar knows he's been spotted and so well, he almost feels ashamed. He has no reason to grow falsely furious and try to plead against such a comment. He bows his head in an ashamed smile.

“I've been watching you, learning how you work for a while now, the younger man says, I've been noticing your behavioural patterns, your aspirations, your desires...Rafael trails allowing Neymar to understand what he means. Whatever imagined or pretended impetus for his visit must've been, it has been abandoned for a more direct and in a totally different ball park course of action.

As at a signal, Neymar's blood rises hot, the air leaving the pit of his stomach instantly. He would blush if he'd have any blood left in the upper part of his body. It is incongruous how Rafinha's suddenly expressed power stance turns him on. 

The truth is he has been pining for the younger co-national for as long as he can remember, Neymar has. He has been trying to get himself noticed, all the while positing he wouldn't even know what to do should Rafael ever accept his shy advances.

Neymar doesn't know how to flirt, really. He pretends to be really funny, clownish almost, in an attempt to be noticed. He generally thinks that should he and his interest be noticed, the other party - usually more experienced and almost always older - would know what to do. That strategy worked before. But when Neymar got inflicted with Rafael Alcantara's exceptional not only beauty but good humour and overall niceness, he didn't know what to do, he didn't know if the policy would work on someone technically younger and of whose experience little was known.

However, this very moment Neymar understands his lack of extra effort has somehow yielded positive results, as Rafael looks almost predatory and intensely beautiful and ready to deploy himself onto him, Neymar, who is barely breathing and more erect than he had ever been.

It is much later that Rafinha tells Neymar he had only intended to give him a pep-talk able to pull him out of his generally self inflicted misery, and not quite literally ravage his asshole in the very room Neymar had chosen to inflict said misery upon himself. They laugh, Neymar aroused again, in fact in an almost permanent state of arousal ever since Rafael turned out to be reciprocating at least sexual attraction if not more complex sentiments.

It is both odd and liberating to be in the position Neymar so deliciously finds himself to be in. He is at Rafael's total and complete disposal whenever in private and sometimes in more obscure public places - as in nearly devoid of paps or other inquiring journos - while yet being the older, more popular, far more prominent footballer and overall footballing personality. The dichotomy sends shivers of delight up and down his spine, Neymar barely resisting to act out.

They spend a lot of time locked in rooms, away from the world and on a well deserved vacation from all public pretense, but the fucking is far less intense as in numbers of times they do it per day/night unit as normally conceivably imagined for young adults their age and with their excitability pattern.

Most of the time spent not fornicating, which is to say, a lot of damn time, they posture and exercise the inner awareness. The eye, as Rafael puts it, the all seeing eye, which in Neymar's case is almost cyclopic in size and demeanor. Neymar must learn how to tame his worrisome inner eye down. How to accept within himself that, despite or maybe because he already is an international superstar, he is still a relatively young and immature kid who cannot reasonably be expected to grow up overnight.

How Rafael knows this is almost a mystery, never addressed or otherwise mentioned in direct conversation between the two. He seems so assured and well adjusted, Rafael, that it would border on insanity to question his methods, especially when his influence is so beneficial and at the same time, so pleasuring.

It is though not uncommon for posturing and yogic positions to lead to downright sex, if not at least to some sort of non-insertable orgasm achieving maneuver, a thing that for the first few instances, made Neymar all too excited to be able to perform the required position well, or at least correctly enough for Rafael to deem satisfactory and to thus reward with kisses or a healthy tug or even, on a few sparring occasions, a fellatio. 

The issue is mainly Neymar's excitability - not just of sexual nature - which the Brazilian forward must learn to control, especially on the field. But sometimes on the very sexual side too, because how lame is it to prepare oneself for a superbly executed blowjob, meant to strengthen the recipient's, which is to say, Neymar's, self control, only to have said receiving party lose control too fast and come untimely.

It is why, for the first week, and after the failed dick sucking experiment, this kind of reward is removed from the roster of little sexy gifts Rafinha likes to offer for good behaviour. 

Of course, Neymar tries, he tries his best and his hardest and he wills himself to be strong and malleable both in body and in spirit, and of course, to stop getting hard whenever Rafael even glancingly looks at his crotch area, and of course, to cease coming like a teen just moments after Rafael began another sexual exploit of his body.

But it's not easy. Neymar's had such a crush on Rafinha for a long time, that nowadays that it is being fulfilled, it is difficult for him to concentrate on anything else than nibbling on Rafinha's splendid nipples, or licking the exquisite panes of his muscled stomach and naturally from being almost horribly aroused whenever Rafael turns that smoulding gaze onto him. 

And when they do fuck, it is almost too intense to bear, so how could Neymar ever hold himself? 

Yet, the yoga type exercises seem to work, somehow relenting the extreme passion Neymar tends to display, sometimes in a totally unnerving, uncalled for manner. This is what Rafinha has to work with, dedicating himself to Neymar's almost acteonic affliction in a florence nightingalely way, with subdued passion of his own, because he likes Neymar, he truly does and cares for him in that distant yet compassionate way doctors care for the subject of their experiments.

Neymar is not an experiment, Rafinha's affection being genuine, yet since it could never match Neymar's own, by sheer comparison, feels truncated and sometimes forced. Hence the doctor - subject comparison. However, in some way, their relationship could be described as clinical, since Rafael is coaching and nurturing Neymar through an almost medical process of honing his personality.

He of permanent good nature and cheer, Rafael Alcantara takes to his task of teaching Neymar while simultaneously loving him seriously and with the same g intent as would any other endeavor. This is his nature, to take everything in the same way, be it lovers and love affairs, football or going out for a night of drinking with the lads. The secret, openly explained to anyone who would care to ask, is that Rafael treats everything with both maximum seriousness as well as with the detachment of a less cared for enterprise. 

So, as long as generally nothing can go wrong and one truly applies himself thereto, why wouldn't the thing be a success? 

He had indeed noticed Neymar, just as he had told him in that room with the Brazilian squad in Chile, and he had made his move with both the intent of a teacher as well as of a lover. Neymar interests him in a way he cannot truly describe, his interest growing as he discovers the other and spends time with him. He is dedicated to both helping Neymar and to being as close to him as possible, taking his role as serious as he always does. 

And with patience and things begin to chance, imperceptibly at first, but gradually getting to where Rafael is trying to take his older teammate.

 

§

 

Time seems to stand still. They're in bed, postcoital. Sweaty, drowsy, blissful. Neymar feels every inch of his body, every crevice of his mind, exposed. It's the first time since Rafael waltzed into his life that he feels he has a grip on things. He understands that all his effort has lead to this very moment, the apex of his tutelage. He is composed and aligned on the inside and the outside. 

Rafael is still splendidly beautiful, limbs splayed across the damp sheets, but that fine coat of almost supernatural attraction that previously made Neymar lose himself has been lifted. In completing the exercise the god Rafinha subjected him to, he stopped being a god. He is just a boy, a sensual, overly pretty boy, but a boy nonetheless. Enlightened and casual, at ease and serious, but ultimately just a man, a very approachable man.

And Neymar knows Rafael knows, the way Rafael looks at him, the way his dark eyes settle on his face, but not exactly on the eyes, almost as if Rafael is grading his own work. Neymar basks in this gaze of his lovers, a gaze so warm and pleasing.

He passed the test and is now complete. He has the chance to take the reins, and he does so, languidly, reaching over to bring Rafinha's voluptuous lips to his. There's no rush and Neymar, as well as Rafael, take the time to savour the kiss, to allow the arousal to settle deep into their very bones before moving to more intimate moves.

Rafael responds, aware that he is the one being guided now, the one at the other's full disposal, and he feels proud and ready to submit control little by little, which he does in ways Neymar will become conscious of only later. They make love as equals, but by the time they're done, their roles are slightly reversed.

It somehow all dwindles down from there, as if deflating a balloon. It doesn't get ugly or sad, their meetings aren't less frequent, but something is a lacking.

Neymar's eagerness, his ardor, his overexcitement. Rafael's kind patronage of exercises and tests. These days, the lazy final days before the summer holiday ends, they just make love, seamlessly moving from their greetings to the undressing to the whole theatrical display of sweaty bodies and positions, to their final grunts and moans and finally, to the rest.

The silence at the end of each act, each more profound and yet more detached than the previous one envelops them in a way that is almost final. Almost, because for some reason there is another installment following it. It's almost like the routine has captured them both and they cannot move on. 

Neymar is sated and subdued, Rafael is happy and gratified, and there's no need to change what works so well between them, like a perpetuum mobile. But even in the midst of that all encompassing silence, so meaningful for the both of them, they know it will have to end soon. They know it was all but a summer's thing, summer school for both teacher and student, and that soon the bell will ring for the very last time and it will be over.

And the final day comes, in the wake of La Liga starting. They're mellow, sitting in bed and Neymar remembers how it all started, with that awful moment of self inflicted punishment back in the Chilean hotel room. He remembers how miserable he felt and how he was feeling like that for all the wrong reasons. He feels so silly for ever behaving like that, yet somehow detached, like he's looking onto a version of him he ceased to be. 

And now he becomes aware that he has to end it, as final proof of his growth, right that very moment. It needn't linger into the footballing fray that is soon to commence.

It's not easy, to stand tall and tell someone as otherworldly as Rafael that it is over between them, that they are no longer needed, but at the same time, he also knows it is expected of him. 

“Rafa...” he says, adjusting his voice to sound compelling yet neutral.

The other Brazilian looks at Neymar, awaiting. 

“I think we should call this off. It's reached its peak and purpose,” Neymar says with conviction.

There is truth in his words, seeping out of him. He dares to look Rafael square in the face, no longer needing approval, but not defiant either. 

“You are correct. If we ever meet again, carnally, it'll be under different circumstances,” Rafael lets out, rolling over away from Neymar's gaze. 

What sounds like a cold exchange between suddenly former lovers is actually the heartfelt goodbye of people having transcended. More pompous or sentimental words aren't necessary, each of them, and in particular the pupil Neymar having learned how to move past such proclivities. 

It is Rafinha's place, so it is Neymar who has to leave, mirroring Rafinha's arrival in his abode. So Neymar does so, slowly, deliberately taking his time to depart properly. And when he closes the door behind him, he knows the circle is complete and that he is a changed man. 

  
[](http://imgur.com/xbA1uS2)  



End file.
